


The Greatest Ride

by WickedGoodBooks



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander Series - Diana Gabaldon
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Modern AU, biker Claire & biker Jamie
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-17
Updated: 2020-04-27
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:02:04
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21831190
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WickedGoodBooks/pseuds/WickedGoodBooks
Summary: Cʟᴀɪʀᴇ Bᴇᴀᴜᴄʜᴀᴍᴘ ʟᴏᴠᴇs ғᴀsᴛ ᴍᴏᴛᴏʀᴄʏᴄʟᴇs. Aғᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ ᴘᴀʀᴛɪᴄᴜʟᴀʀʟʏ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏᴀʙʟᴇ ᴇxᴄᴜʀsɪᴏɴ ᴀʟᴏɴɢ Sᴄᴏᴛʟᴀɴᴅ's ᴄᴏᴀsᴛᴀʟ ᴍᴏᴛᴏʀᴡᴀʏs, sʜᴇ ᴅᴇᴄɪᴅᴇs ᴛᴏ ᴅʀᴏᴘ ʜᴇʀ ʙɪᴋᴇ ᴏғғ ᴀᴛ ᴀ ɢᴀʀᴀɢᴇ ғᴏʀ ɪɴsᴘᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴ.Eɴᴛᴇʀ Jᴀᴍᴇs Fʀᴀsᴇʀ.[CURRENTLY ON HOLD, will most likely NOT be finished]
Relationships: Claire Beauchamp/Jamie Fraser
Comments: 555
Kudos: 590





	1. The Greatest Ride

**Author's Note:**

  * For [HappyToObserve](https://archiveofourown.org/users/HappyToObserve/gifts).



> I actually started with a different idea for this, but after a lengthy conversation with @happytoobserve and another good look at the moodboard I felt like the 'mood' of my initial idea didn't really do this one justice (at least not as a oneshot). In accordance with happy's suggestion, I abandoned the first attempt (for now) and wrote this instead.
> 
> So, long story short, this is my contribution to the Moodboard Fic Challenge, run by the lovely @outlanderlush and @iamnottrisha! And special thanks to @https://twitter.com/trashyKT for the moodboard that inspired not only one story, but two.

**The Greatest Ride**

I first met Jamie Fraser in the parking space right in front of _Fraser Motors_ , an up-and-coming custom cycles shop in the heart of Glasgow.

A sunny day in early spring, it had been a perfect opportunity to take my trusted _Suzuki_ _GSX-R600_ on the road. Since I had the day off, I gladly exchanged the daily scenery of clinical greens, beeping monitors, and antiseptic handshakes for the healing horizons of Scotland’s glens and mountain ranges.

Leaving the city behind me in a cloud of exhaust fumes, I weaved through the lines of late-morning traffic until the land around me grew greener and my heart more at ease. By midday, I was soaring over the coastal motorway, the salty air filling my nostrils and clearing my mind. 

The incomparable sense of freedom was only disrupted by the continuously rumbling reminder that I hadn’t had my morning porridge. Giving in to my baser needs, I decided now was as good a time as any to refill my tank and grab a bite to eat. In answer to my inquiries as to where I could find the nearest chippie, the pimply attendant at the petrol station directed me towards an establishment called _McCaskies_. Adding a packet of chewing gum to my bill, I smiled and thanked him for the suggestion. 

Following the instructions, I reached the place soon after, a delightfully greasy sort of smell greeting me. _McCaskies_ was, in fact, a lot nicer than the average little chippie. Located right at the mouth of Wemyss Bay, a gentle breeze wafted in from the sea, carrying the chatter of seagulls to the tables on the patio of the restaurant.

I parked my helmet on the chair next to me and slipped out of my favourite motorcycle jacket, the protectors too heavy and stiff to allow for comfortable off-bike manoeuvring. That weight finally off my shoulders, I relaxed into the seat with the sun in my face, waiting for my order of the Chef’s speciality—Steak Pie with 100% Scottish beef, served alongside seasonal vegetables—to arrive.

An hour or so later, I was still gazing out onto Wemyss Bay, my mind blissfully empty as a content sigh escaped from my lips, the savoury taste of tender beef and gravy still lingering on my taste buds. With the walls of my stomach stretched to their limits, I battled my mane of brown curls into submission to fit underneath the helmet again, readying myself for the ride back.

Taking the A78, I circled around the Clyde Muirshiel Park on my way to Glasgow, but home was not on my mind quite yet. Ever since passing through Glengarnock, I’d noticed a soft but nevertheless concerning _cracking_ noise whenever I shifted into a higher gear. That needed to be looked at before I’d take her on another ride.

The only problem was that my trusted mechanic of the past seven years had recently closed the doors to his garage, putting himself out to grass after devoting some fifty odd years of his passion to the business. Not one to leave his loyal customers—and friends—hanging, Auld Alec recommended a relatively new shop in Partick, which was owned by a mechanic who’d learned the trade from Alec himself. My schedule as a trauma surgeon being busy as it was, however, I hadn’t yet had time to check _Fraser Motors_ out.

Pulling my Suzuki up in front of the grey-walled storefront, I opened my visor and gawped somewhat dazedly around. _Surely this can’t be it?_ I wondered, even though the sign above the entrance made it abundantly clear that I _was_ undoubtedly in the right location. To be fair, I didn’t know what I had expected exactly, but knowing that the man in charge of this place had learned from the maestro himself, I’d inadvertently assumed his premises would embody the same charming but rather cluttered chaos of spare parts and dirty rags.

Still mesmerised by how tidy— _spotless_ , as far as that’s possible—the garage was, I entered the shop and was greeted by a tiny, blue-eyed woman nodding hello at me while she dealt with a customer on the phone.

I was reading the fine print on the back of the neat little maintenance-and-care kit that had captured my interest when her surprisingly strong voice directed its attention towards me.

“Awright, luv, what can I do fer ye?”

My earlier observation relayed to her in as much detail as I was able to, the woman—who introduced herself as Jenny—concurred that I’d better have that looked at right away. Seeing that I didn’t have time to pick my Suzy up earlier than next week, and that the yearly check-up was drawing near anyway, we arranged to have me leave my bike at the shop until then—without extra charge.

Very pleased with the fact that _Fraser Motors_ did seem to live up to Auld Alec’s recommendation, I exited the shop with a distinct bounce in my step. I shook out my hair, letting it curl freely around my shoulders, and closed my eyes, delighting in the still-shining sun warming my face. It had been a fantastic day.

If only I’d known how much better it would get.

The deep rumble of an approaching bike jerked me out of my spontaneous sun worshipping, eyes snapping open immediately. A fellow rider drew up next to me, the melodious purr of his bike resonating in my pulse. The brand-new _Kawasaki Ninja_ model stood, in all its matte-black glory, right in front of me.

 _God, what a machine_.

Completely caught up in shamelessly ogling my personal dream bike, I had failed to take any real notice of the man perched atop it. But then he took off his helmet, and my gaze was instinctively drawn towards the light catching in short, dishevelled hair the colour of molten copper.

The deep Scottish brogue originating from that devilishly handsome face, set in a knowing smirk, rivalled even the sound of the engine he’d just switched off. “See something ye like, lass?”

His eyes—blue as the waters I’d spent the whole day cruising along—held mine with magnetic force.

“Very much,” I countered, my gaze sweeping up from long legs, over the broad chest, and back to the strong, stubbled jaw, my own lips curling upwards, “and the bike isn’t too bad, either.”

“A Sassenach.” My accent had taken him by surprise, if the widening of his eyes was any indication. He recovered quickly, though. “Sweet ride ye got there. How long have ye had it?”

I flicked a dead leaf from the seat, caressing the soft leather with great tenderness. “I’ve had her for about five years now. Yours looks pretty new—is that the latest model?”

“Aye, it’s the 2020 ZX-6R. Got her only ten days ago—early birthday present, ye ken?” The smirk stretched into a grin, barely able to contain the infectious excitement about his purchase. 

“She’s a beauty.”

“Aye, she is,” he agreed, the copper hair slowly resuming a curlier state in the open air. Something about his tone gave me the distinct feeling that he wasn’t just talking about the motorcycle.

Trying to make up my mind about whether a quick stop at the supermarket was worth the detour, I checked my phone for the time, and prepared to wish the handsome stranger a good day, when he spoke.

“Can I buy ye a drink?” Apparently, he wasn’t yet ready to part ways with me.

I halted mid-step, quite taken by surprise. “What? Like, _now_?”

“Aye, _like now_ ,” he confirmed with a nod, an unidentifiable gleam manifesting in the depth of his irises.

Maybe it was the directness of his question. Maybe it was the shared love for motorcycles and the non-threatening vibe. Or maybe it was the fact that I really enjoyed how that gorgeous man seemed to undress me with his eyes that prompted me to say “Yes,” without any hesitation.

“Brilliant,” he said, dismounting his _Ninja_ rather gracefully. I hadn’t realised how tall he was until that giant of a man stood right in front of me, blocking out the sun as he stretched his arms above his head before extending one to me. “I’m Jamie, by the way.”

“Claire,” I offered with a smile, the heat from his touch seeping into me.

“Awright, Claire,” he said, rolling the R’s in a way that made my heart flutter a little. “Follow me.”

Having caught a good glimpse of his leather-clad backside when he’d swung a long leg off his machine, the thought occurred to me that I’d be more than happy to have him lead me to the end of the world—as long as he was walking ahead. 

Around 6 foot 4 by my own estimations, Jamie had an athletic build—wide-shouldered and slim-waisted—but wasn’t overly bulging with muscle; and for a man of his stature, he seemed exceptionally light on his feet.

The destination of our impromptu date—or whatever it was—seemed to be _The Smiddy_ on Dumbarton Road, only a couple of minutes away. Reaching the cosy pub at the corner of the street, Jamie gallantly held the door open for me before entering the slightly stuffy interior himself. 

We sat at the bar, squished closely together among a throng of noisy patrons, but I found I didn’t mind that proximity at all. Jamie—unsuccessfully trying to tame adorable cowlicks and oozing sex appeal aplenty—turned out to be wonderful company. He sat straight, with a confident tilt to his head, finding an effortless balance between sharing stories and listening to my own.

Jamie was nothing but respectful and courteous throughout—even if overtly flirtatious—but whenever I took a sip of my cider, watching him from beneath lowered lashes, his blue eyes would glint ever so slightly, raking up and down my body in a way that went straight to my core.

Feeling the heat begin to build between my legs, I had to admit that even though I’d indulged in a very filling meal, the sight of that Viking in front of me was whetting my appetite for Scottish meat once more. The thought must have shown on my face, because he leaned in, his voice low.

“I’d really like tae take ye home, Claire.”

The hairs on the nape of my neck stood to immediate attention.

I crossed my legs, brushing against his thigh with mine, and looked at that tall, refreshingly forward man, considering. He seemed at ease, outwardly calm and composed. As he looked at me over the rim of his glass, though, there was again that spark of fire in his eyes that made my insides churn with want.

 _Fuck it_ , I thought. I’d got my rush of adrenaline and a healthy dose of vitamin D, why not add some good old endorphins to the mix?

I got up from my barstool and drained the rest of my drink in two large gulps.

“I’m sorry if that was too—” Jamie said, a note of uncertainty ringing in the half-begun apology.

“Let’s go,” I cut him off, grabbing his large hand, and dragging him up from his perch, intent on the exit.

It only took him half a second to catch up with my meaning, his long stride lengthening with restored confidence as we left the merry atmosphere of the pub behind us, leading the way. A few paces down the road, a possessive hand was placed on my rear, its breadth covering almost half of it. I smirked at him and reciprocated the gesture only too willingly. 

We were walking at a brisk pace, eager to reach whatever horizontal surface awaited us first at Jamie’s place, when one long, daring finger ventured down my buttock and stopped in the cleft between my thighs.

I stopped dead in the middle of the pavement—earning us a disgruntled curse from a passer-by—and looked at him, but his hand stayed in place, finger deliciously teasing.

“You better not be just a tease,” I advised with a cocked eyebrow, moving my hand over his, urging him to press harder against me.

“Dinnae fash, Sassenach, I’ll only tease until ye beg me tae take ye,” Jamie replied, white teeth gleaming in the twilight.

“We’ll see who’ll be doing the begging,” I challenged with the same cheek, deliberately brushing a hand over the front of his trousers, earning me a satisfying hiss. 

Jamie’s pace quickened with every step as he tugged me along, the hand on my backside gripping tighter. We reached our goal halfway down a non-descript street, next to a mural I hadn’t seen before. Reluctant to let go of me, Jamie fumbled with the door single-handedly until it sprang open with an ancient _gnaaargh_ sort of sound. Inside, we barrelled up a narrow staircase, my adrenaline levels rising considerably.

I sauntered into his apartment with what I hoped was a seductive sway of hips. It was a small place, but clean. There was the unmistakeable smell of leather, various jackets and boots lining the entryway, motor oil, and something that seemed to be quintessentially _him_ —an enticing blend that I would, from that point onward, always associate with James Fraser.

The man in question was leaning with his back against the front door, watching me with smouldering eyes.

The thrill of adventure was lurking in the corners of my mouth as I curled a finger in his direction, silently asking him to come closer. There was no sense of hesitation or restraint when he followed my invitation—covering the distance between us—and crushed his mouth to mine. 

Instinctively, my fingers wound themselves through the thick mop of hair, gripping and twirling, slightly pulling at the roots.

One large hand was curved around my neck—holding me against him, thumb pressing lightly against my pulse point. With the other placed firmly on my bottom again, he began to kiss me into oblivion. 

From the moment Jamie’s lips first descended on my mouth, I wasn’t able to pay heed to anything but the beautiful man in front of me—rousing me, engulfing me. Belly to belly, I could feel him stir, the knowledge that he was as lost to me as I to him making me feel incredibly powerful.

“Ye have a mighty fine arse, Claire,” Jamie mumbled somewhat hoarsely as he directed the attention of his mouth towards my neck.

“Can only return that particular sentiment.” To emphasise my appreciation of said part of his anatomy, I gave it a hearty squeeze.

I gasped as Jamie found a particularly sensitive spot at the base of my throat, sucking at it eagerly.

“Bed,” I demanded in a husky voice. “Now.”

“Yer wish is my command.”

I let out a surprisingly girlish _wooop!_ as Jamie literally swept me off my feet, slung me over his shoulder, and carried me effortlessly into his bedroom.

He set me down at the foot of his bed, eyes—gone in an endless blue with desire—boring into mine with ferocious intensity. I found it slightly alarming that he didn’t even need to touch me for my heart to hammer against my chest in anticipation.

“Lord, I want ye.”

Emboldened by this statement, I traced the line of his stubbled jaw with a finger, a flirty suggestion playing on my lips. “Then take me for a ride?”

In an instant, his mouth was fused to mine once more, and we both sprang into action, wrestling with the many protective layers to unearth that promised land of bare skin.

Soon enough, the secrets beneath our leather gear were revealed, and I stared with open admiration at the considerable length rising from a neatly trimmed thicket of auburn. Quite unintentionally, I ran the tip of my tongue around my lips.

“Do you have a...helmet for our little friend?” I asked, a smirk tugging violently at the corners of my mouth. Jamie looked at me with raised eyebrows and his mouth pressed into a thin line, but then, the dam broke and we both spluttered with laughter.

“That has got tae be the worst pun in history,” he chuckled, breath soft and heady against the skin of my cleavage as he leaned towards me. “And I think ye can see that he’s no’ quite sae little. But aye, I do.”

That issue out of the way, there was nothing to stop us. Impatient for the feel of each other, we fell onto the bed, naked bodies pressed closely together. Our hands were roaming, teasing, grazing, while our lips continued their passionate dance. Jamie was kneading the back of my thighs when I hitched one leg over his hip, inviting him to go further.

My groin tightly pressed against his, he explored me with deft, lightly calloused fingers. Spurred on by the wetness he encountered, Jamie rolled me onto my back, the pleasant weight of a firm chest pushing me deeper into the mattress as he settled himself between my thighs. I bucked into him, wanting more.

“Ye’re an impatient one, are ye no’?” A throaty laugh erupted from his large frame and travelled over my skin, only fuelling my excessive desire for him. 

Seeing that he wasn’t reacting to the urgency of my hips, I resorted to a different strategy. I dragged my teeth from his chin all the way to his earlobe, sucking and nipping the soft skin there.

“I like it rough,” I breathed into his ear, raking my nails over the planes of his back, underlining that preference.

I felt his body’s response right away—the powerful muscles growing taut with excitement under my fingertips.

He looked at me, eyes glinting as a slow smile was spreading on those luscious lips. Leaning closer, he whispered against the heat of my mouth, “Good, I wasnae planning tae be verra gentle.”

“What are you waiting for, then?”

And with that, we came together in a head-on collision, sparks of ignition spreading like wildfire through my veins. I cried out, quite unprepared for the overwhelming sensation of him filling me. Jamie, braced on his forearms, wore an expression of deep concentration as he began to move—very slowly.

“Lord, ye’re tight,” he groaned, eyes closed and brows furrowed, though whether it was in pleasure or pain was hard to discern.

“I haven’t had any complaints yet,” I teased, my voice having taken on a breathless quality.

“Trust me, I’m no’ complaining either,” he assured me, opening his eyes and flashing me a brilliant smile.

I kissed him then, the succulent taste of his tongue intoxicating as I crossed my ankles behind his back and pressed my heels down. Jamie took the cue and began to move in tune with the jerking demand of my body, driving deeper into me with each stroke, the force of his movement making me moan and my head bounce against the headboard.

Our bodies already intimately attuned to one another, I sensed Jamie’s arms tiring before he did, biceps spasming under my eager touch, and prompted him to switch. He reclined against the headboard, fiery hair and Cheshire cat grin plastered on his ridiculously handsome face, holding me steady as I sank down on him. I whimpered at the exquisite feeling of him inside of me, the connection between us at once deeper and more intimate in our changed position, and Jamie’s mouth went slack, his eyes softening.

I started a slow rhythm, hips undulating against his, as Jamie’s fingers began to wander up and down my sides, leaving a burning tingle in their wake. Blue eyes glazed over with desire, he cupped my breasts, the little calloused hills at the base of each finger rough against the tender skin.

The symphony of our joining filled the room—panting, and moaning, and groans of delight—but we were oblivious to anything but each other. Jamie, hands on my waist and sucking at the base of my neck, aided me as much as he could in my attempt to move our bodies impossibly closer.

Increasing the pace, I alternated the angle of penetration, and Jamie added a finger to the mix, rubbing skilfully in just the right place. Again, and again, I threw myself against him, the feeling at once too much and not enough. 

I convulsed then—suddenly, and violently—my back arching and breasts squashed against his chest, as I rode the waves of pleasure, slick muscles contracting around him.

“God, do that again,” he whimpered. “Please.”

Still riding my high, I gladly obliged, digging my nails into the flesh of his shoulder.

“Oh God,” he cried soon after, throwing his head back—hips jerking once, twice, and then stilled.

We were both breathing heavily, and my heart felt as if about to burst out of my chest. I looked at him, sapphire eyes wide with wonder.

“That was…” Jamie began, wiping beads of sweat off his face.

“The greatest ride I ever had,” I finished for him, and smiled. 

Two used condoms and a hot, joint shower later, I fell asleep in Jamie’s arms—his breath on my shoulder, my arse fitted snugly against his groin—not yet knowing that this was only just the beginning.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always my gratitude to the people who make me a better writer:  
> @happytoobserve and @lcbeauchampoftarth
> 
> And special thanks to @https://twitter.com/trashyKT for the moodboard that inspired this :)


	2. The Light of a New Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this story was supposed to be a one-shot for the fabulous moodboard challenge by the lovely @outlanderlush and @iamnottrisha, but during writing the first part for the moodboard challenge, I already knew this had the potential to be more than that.  
> so here's to all of you who enjoy my writing enough to give this a chance and who encouraged me to write more for these two bold souls.  
> to all of you who read silently, leave a little heart, subscribe, recommend, set a bookmark or leave a comment.

**The Light of a New Day**

I was wading at the edge of the murky waters of half-sleep, when a sound cut through the solitude of dreams I wouldn’t bother to remember come morning, piquing my interest enough to pull me towards the surface of wakefulness. At first still suspended in that strange fog of semi-consciousness, I finally came to with the lurching realisation that the sound hadn’t just been a figment of my imagination. It was very real, very near, and very much coming from a set of rather healthy lungs—my own.

It just so happened that the moaning that continued to float around the room was skilfully coaxed out of my willing mouth by a set of very clever fingers busying themselves between my legs. If the wetness coating my inner thighs was anything to go by, I’d have wagered that they had been at it for a bit before my mind finally caught up with my body.

Eyes still closed, my left hand moved down to lay atop his in silent encouragement, as my other groped its way behind my back to find a hard thigh and squeeze it in welcome.

“Hello there.” My voice sounded raspy and hoarse, from sleep as much as from the current goings-on.

“Good morning,” the warm, sleepy baritone mumbled into my hair.

Goosebumps erupted all over my flushed body as the tip of his nose traced the shell of my ear, the mist of his breath warm on my shoulder.

“It’s definitely good,” I purred, stretching languorously and cracking an eye open, his fingers exorcising the last remnants of fatigue. The sun had not yet risen, though the impenetrable black of the night was already giving way to the softer greys and blues that promised the light of a new day. 

“Aye?” I could feel the wide mouth smile against my skin. “Have ye slept well?”

“ _Very_ well. You?”

“Mmmh,” he hummed, the sound stoking the fire down below where two long fingers continued their exploration. “But I woke because my baws were aching something fierce.”

“Seems to me like your balls weren’t the only thing aching,” I chuckled softly. There was no denying the hardness pressing into my lower back. My right hand moved from his thigh, searching, the tickle of wiry curls pleasant against my fingertips as I found and grasped him.

As soon as my fingers closed around him, Jamie’s breath caught, unable to keep his hips from bucking into my gentle touch.

“Aye, he missed ye too,” he admitted throatily, his fingers still stroking me. 

Whether it was the lack of visual stimulation determined by the darkness of the room and my current position heightening the sensation, or the simple fact that his fingers were slowly undoing me beneath the sheets, I realised there and then that I needed to have him.

Again.

Right now.

“Do you have another condom?” I panted, eyes shut in appreciation as one dexterous digit discovered a particularly sensitive spot.

“Aye, I do.” He sounded just as eager and wanting as I was.

Propping himself up on one elbow, Jamie half-leaned over me—his hand momentarily leaving its perch between my legs—patting around the dark until a drawer was opened and shut. Then, there was a ripping sound and the tell-tale rustle of tinfoil being crumpled before he folded his body around mine again.

I was about to roll to straddle him when his question stopped me with the same effect as the large hand on my waist. “D’ye mind if we do it like this?”

Angling my face towards his on the pillow we shared, Jamie’s eyes were still mostly hidden by the dark, but I could feel his gaze burning into me.

“Feeling lazy this morning, my lad?” I teased, capturing his lips with mine, earning me another appreciative rumble and a tightening of the grip on my waist.

“Just want tae feel that fine arse against me,” he breathed into my mouth, his hips searching for friction against my backside, and I found myself not opposed at all to the idea of having Jamie take me while we were spooning.

“Go ahead then,” I said, pressing another brief kiss to his lips before turning my face and settling against the pleasant heat of his chest once more. 

Laying on our sides, our bodies fit together as if they were formed from the same clay—the soft curves of mine moulded perfectly to the hard lines of his. Smoothing my hair back over my shoulder, Jamie set his chin atop the curly mass, granting his mouth better access to my neck.

Sucking the soft skin of my earlobe, his right hand began to wander—over my breasts, leaving my nipples hard and upright, down the slope of my belly, to the swell of hip and thigh—amplifying the growing need pooling at my core. I could feel the same ache of arousal coursing through him as I undulated my pelvis against his, spurred on by the symphony of low sounds I was able to elicit from his large frame.

Our mutual teasing was on the verge of becoming almost unbearable when Jamie lifted my leg carefully below the knee and hoisted it over his. Spreading me thus open to the night, he eased himself slowly into me, prompting a resonant moan to erupt from my lungs and removing any sense of decorum I’d maintained since first finding myself in his bed.

Jamie seemed similarly overcome, his shallow breath a gentle caress on my cheek as one hand wedged itself between the mattress and my hip, holding tight, while his other reached over and down to cup the wet heat of me.

Then, we moved together.

This time, it was slow and gentle, even though the previous night had quite impressively demonstrated that ‘slow and gentle’ was neither mine nor Jamie’s general preference. Although I was facing away from him, the connection between us felt overwhelmingly intimate. I could feel the rapid beat of his heart pounding against the groove of my spine, the deliberate roll of hips into mine, the raspy curls between his legs teasing my backside with each renewed assault of tenderness.

My breath left me in a long, satisfied sigh—neck arched and toes curled against hairy shins—as Jamie held me close and followed me over the precipice shortly after, moaning my name. 

*****

I woke again not much later, feeling cold and oddly bereft. Instinctively, I inched back a little, searching for the comforting embrace of the newly familiar furnace called Jamie, but met only empty air at my back. The realisation that his body was no longer sheltering mine explained that strange sensation of feeling exposed that had nothing to do with my current state of undress.

I grabbed the sheets that were bunched up somewhere around hip-level, drawing them up to my nose, and burrowed as deep as I could into the pocket of blissful warmth, inhaling deeply.

I’d always loved the smell of sex.

Those lingering pheromones in the air, the subtle but distinct tang of latex, and that heady musk of shared physical exertions. No matter where, how, when, or who, the olfactory aftermath of sex was inherently identifiable as such. 

And yet…and yet there was something excitingly different every single time, a new scent to be discovered. The unique fragrance titillating my senses in that moment, for instance, was a delectable composition of sun-warmed leather, a whiff of soap, and a little something that was quintessentially _us_.

Underneath all those individual aromas, my nose could also detect Jamie’s exclusive contribution to the mix. In addition to the alkaline edge of male completion, the attractive Scot had a very pleasant smell to his skin—something earthy that reminded me of a freshly brewed cup of Earl Grey on a lazy Sunday morning.

Speaking of Sunday mornings, on this very one, I found myself thoroughly disinclined to leave the bed to go to work. _This_ bed, in particular. The idea of a hot cuppa and something savoury to replenish my energy instead of spending a 24-hour shift palpating tender stomachs, stitching up gashes, and trying not to lose my temper with recalcitrant patients, was contributing to the reluctance to get dressed as much as the prospect of potentially adding one or two more notes of carnal pleasure to the perfume permeating the drifts of linen currently covering my naked form.

As I lay there, my eyes still clamped shut against the beams of sunlight that got harder and harder to ignore, contemplating whether I really needed that job after all, a warm rumble of a voice interrupted my internal struggle.

“Morning,” he said in a way that made a shiver run down my spine.

How he’d known I was awake, I couldn’t tell.

I could feel his eyes boring into me somewhere in the vicinity of that tiny mole that lived in the shallow valley between my shoulder blades. I rolled to face him, feeling the slight soreness of muscle from a night spent in activity rather than restfulness, and flashed him a smile that I hoped would cause him to overlook my rather crunched and frizzy morning look. 

“Hello again,” I replied, watching his approach with hawk-eyes.

While I generally wouldn’t consider myself to be someone to hide their appreciation for an attractive member of the opposite sex, I definitely wasn’t someone to openly lust after them either. Jamie, though, had me challenging that belief about myself with frightening intensity. With a pair of black boyfriend-cut sweatpants hanging dangerously low on his hips, three days’ scruff covering that ridiculously handsome face, and the confident swagger of a man who’d made me scream more often than I cared to count, I could barely stop myself from drooling.

“D’ye want something tae eat?” For an instant, sapphire eyes dropped to the tops of my breasts, just peeking out above the sheets half-heartedly containing my nakedness, and he licked his lips at the sight, seemingly unconscious of the action. I smiled broadly.

So _he_ wasn’t immune to _me_ either.

“I can whip up an omelette, if ye like.”

Chewing my lower lip, I considered his offer. I _wanted_ to eat all right, just not what he had in mind. Though if I was being honest, I had time for neither. I sighed, smile falling as reality hit home with a vengeance. With my Suzy at the workshop, getting home would take some time; and while I wouldn’t have minded another shower at Jamie’s and heading to work in my riding gear, the fact that I didn’t have my employee’s badge on me effectively prevented me from following instinct and invitation.

“I’m afraid I have to go,” I groaned my frustration halfway into the pillow. “Work.”

Ruddy brows rose slightly, but the rest of his face was unreadable. “Ah, weel…I should probably give ye some privacy tae dress then.”

Before I could respond with anything else, something like that I didn’t mind him watching me at all, he’d spun around on his heel—dammit, even his ankles were sexy—and rushed out of the room.

Still wondering what had caused the sudden exit, I rooted around for my discarded clothing, struggling to unearth the hiding place of one unruly sock.

Five minutes later, with morning-wild curls half-tamed into a sloppy bun, I emerged from the bedroom with fully reinstated modesty—left sock and all. Jamie wasn’t anywhere to be seen, but the banging and clattering sounds were indicator enough about his whereabouts.

Bare-backed, with dishevelled short curls glinting like copper in the early morning light, he stood in the kitchen, frying something that smelled suspiciously like eggs while simultaneously popping two slices of bread into a toaster. I took no small amount of pleasure in watching the triangular shapes of his shoulder blades glide underneath the skin and muscle as he worked, humming tunelessly to himself.

Leaning against the doorframe, I finally announced my presence, “That smells delicious.”

He jumped slightly, almost dropping the spatula, and hissing as a splash of grease made contact with his skin.

“Glad ye like it, ‘cause this is fer you.”

“That’s very sweet, but—” I tried to protest.

“I ken,” he interjected, throwing me a smile over his shoulder that was so confident it was teetering on the edge of smug. “But I also didnae think it proper tae send ye off wi’out anything tae fill yer wame given how many calories we burnt last night. And this morning,” he added with a definite edge of smugness in his tone now, and I felt the same emotion welling up in my own chest at the recollection of our shared exercise. “Sae, I’m making ye an egg sandwich fer on the way. Coffee is already done,” he said, pointing to his right.

“Oh.” Was all my somewhat sleep-addled brain managed to come up with as it was still occupied with a sequence of images relating to said burning of calories.

Only after I reminded myself, rather forcefully, that I really couldn’t stay, I realised that he’d meant the steel thermos cup sitting on the counter, and not the gently steaming black _Route 66_ mug—slightly tarnished but obviously well-loved—he’d just taken a hearty gulp from, eyes closed in delight. 

“I can’t take your thermos, Jamie,” I objected more out of etiquette than anything else. That coffee smelled like a much-needed lifeline to get me through my workday.

“Aye, ye can,” Jamie countered, his expression softer now over the rim of his mug. “I have three more, I can live wi’out it. But,” he continued with a glint of mischievousness flashing in his deep blue eyes, “if ye feel sorry fer uprooting this little fella from his family, ye can always bring it back where it belongs.”

Well played, Jamie.

I accepted his coffee with a grateful smile, too knackered to pretend I didn’t want that coffee desperately.

We were silent after that, throwing each other hungry glances now and again, me taking appreciative sips of the scalding hot aromatic brew—apparently the man didn’t just have great taste in motorcycles—while he finished up the egg sandwich he’d promised me as waybread.

At the door, we followed in the unsure steps of that awkward dance of saying goodbye to a lover who’d explored the most intimate parts of your body, the nooks and crannies of secret pleasure, while knowing barely anything about the person inhabiting it.

In the end, we settled on another kiss, not holding anything back, savouring the silky-soft texture of lips and the wet heat of tongues as my fingers raked through the thick auburn hair while his massaged my bottom as if to commit its shape to memory.

We parted with some reluctance, sharing one more breath as I trailed one fingertip along the sharp line of his jaw. “Bye.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always my gratitude to the people who make me a better writer:  
> @happytoobserve and @lcbeauchampoftarth
> 
> And special thanks to @https://twitter.com/trashyKT for the moodboard that inspired this :)


	3. Converging Roads

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well, writing still doesn't come easily at the moment, but I'm certainly giving it my all.  
> thanks for all of you who stick with me and support me and my stories, I appreciate you more than ever.  
> to all you subscribers, kudo-ers, bookmarkers, silent readers, and commenters <3

**Converging Roads**

The days after my night with Jamie passed quickly, filled to the brim with an endless stream of hospital work and trying to maintain something resembling a social life. But during the small moments in between, when there was enough time to do more than take a hasty bite out of a soggy bacon roll while half-listening to my friend Gillian rave about her latest obsession—featuring this month: Bikram Yoga—my mind would, more often than not, wander towards a brilliantly smug smile and flaming copper hair.

Jamie.

It was in these moments that I would suddenly find myself watching from the side-lines—a fascinated spectator—as two conflicting emotions battled for dominance: euphoric, happy-sigh-inducing reminiscence against red-hot outrage at my own incapacity to ask for his number. While this sparring match was as distracting as it was entertaining, the fact that Jamie had also not taken any active step to set up the possibility of a future meeting had not escaped my notice. I had been in a hurry to get home and then to work; he, on the other hand, had no such obvious excuse.

It had been a spur of the moment adventure for both of us—that much was clear from our chance meeting. Just two strangers, two bike lovers acting on an undeniable attraction in the parking lot of _Fraser Motors._ A casual fling; something to quench the thirst of desire and nothing more. At least, that’s what I’d expected when I accepted Jamie’s invitation for a drink on the spot. So, the assumption that maybe he wasn’t looking for anything beyond that either wasn’t exactly a farfetched one.

It had felt _a lot_ more than casual, though.

With as much objectivity as I could muster, I made numerous attempts at analysing the whole scenario, coming to several half-formed conclusions. One, both Jamie and I got more out of that night than either of us might have hoped for, if the number of orgasms was anything to go by. Two, if he considered our coming together merely a casual shag, his behaviour had been almost _too_ considerate and attentive in the morning. I mean, the man made me a bloody egg sandwich for the journey home! Three—and maybe I was talking myself into seeing things that hadn’t been there—but I’d also had the impression that Jamie hadn’t been enthusiastic at all about my leaving, and not just from his bed.

The back and forth in my head amounted to an emotional tennis match that left me dizzy and slightly annoyed with myself. Over-interpreting and dissecting every titbit wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

Though if I was being honest, my problem was an entirely rhetorical one. While neither of us had the other’s contact details, I had a distinct advantage: I knew where Jamie lived. And he’d _literally_ handed me an excuse to go back if I decided I wanted to see him again.

The question was, did I want to?

I was lost in yet another whirlwind of thought, trying to come up with a way of returning the thermos mug to its gorgeous ginger owner without coming on too strongly, when my phone chimed in that high-pitched, atonal ringtone I loved for purely nostalgic reasons.

An unknown number flashed across the tiny, pixelated screen of my trusted old Nokia 3310—an ancient relic among a sea of modern, life-saving technology—and for a millisecond, my insides tensed, hoping against better judgement that it could be him.

I answered in the same cool and professional confidence I usually reserved for my patients, “Hello?”

“Hi, this is Jenny from _Fraser Motors_. Is this Claire Beauchamp?”

The bubbles of excitement popped one by one with every syllable.

Reigning my unwarranted disappointment in, I confirmed that she was speaking to the right person.

“I’m calling tae tell ye that we have yer bike ready. Ye can come pick her up.”

The prospect of reuniting with my beloved Suzy triggered something that was likely a pathetic excuse for a jig in the middle of one of the break rooms. Knowing that I could take her out on the road again so soon even made me forget about Jamie—for the moment, at least.

“Excellent! Did you find out what the problem was? Is the cracking noise gone? The gearshift won’t need to be replaced then?”

I launched into a series of questions, which Jenny effectively cut short by telling me that she didn’t have the exact information available right now, but that the mechanic would be more than happy to talk me through everything when I came by.

I ended the call by thanking Jenny again and assuring her that I’d stop by in two days’ time. Taking another absent-minded sip of coffee, I smiled, appropriated thermos mug in hand.

Two more days.

*****

The days until I could pick up my bike seemed to pass in slow motion. The 42 hours since I had hung up on _Fraser Motors_ had felt like the worst of my professional life. During that last shift I’d been puked on (three times by two different patients), my foot had been bruised by a headless paramedic rushing a trolley into the A&E (causing a stream of profanity that had even the foul-mouthed nurse Louise impressed), and an inept colleague had tried to blame me for a serious misdiagnosis resulting in loss of limb (a patient’s, not his). 

I was practically fuming, wishing that damn place and its inhabitants to hell, as I stomped out of the hospital, fingers clenched around the strap of my shoulder bag. At least the knots of tension lessened a bit with each step away from the reek of highly frequented toilet cubicles and hand sanitiser. My mood, however, was still as dark as the River Clyde that night when I’d finally made it home. 

On my couch with a long queue of _Honest Trailer_ videos to catch up on, things looked a lot brighter already. I had a carton full of deliciously greasy fried noodles on my lap, some well-earned days off ahead of me, and I’d get my bike back tomorrow.

Strangely though, the only real consolation came in the form of an unassuming everyday item. A simple thermos mug that had accompanied me to work every day, that I had unwisely but unfalteringly filled to the brim with my favourite coffee roast just now—who needed sleep when they could have Yemen Mocha? 

Every time I took a sip, the sharp fruitiness distinct on my tongue, my mouth would involuntarily quirk into a smile at the knowledge that my lips were touching the spot where the mug’s owner’s would usually reside. Lost in that thought, I was almost able to feel them brush against mine; the bristle of Jamie’s whiskers against my skin, causing a heat to build in my belly that had nothing to do with the hot, aromatic brew.

I was _so_ going to “return that mug”.

Soon.

Tomorrow.

*****

Tomorrow dawned after a night of chasing sleep while rotating like a pig roasting over a fire pit. The coffee had obviously been a mistake.

The exhaustion of work still sat deep in my bones, weighing down every step as I dragged myself out of bed and into the en suite bathroom.

I groaned at the reflection in the mirror. Puffy-eyed and curls sticking out wildly in every direction, I could have easily taken up residence in a wheat field and assumed the local scarecrow duties. Seeing the exhaustion so plainly in the amber orbs staring back at me, and in the tight set of my shoulders, I seriously considered whether I really wanted to deal with anything beyond my basic responsibilities today.

While heading back to bed and spending the day in blissful ignorance seemed like a tempting alternative, I knew from experience that I’d very much regret messing up my sleep rhythm—or, at least, whatever was left of it after ten years of erratic shift patterns. Sighing in resignation, I grabbed my toothbrush and set to work some life back into me.

The second coffee fix currently washing down my parched throat was helping as much to revive me as the long, hot shower had done. I felt almost back to myself, but what I really needed to recharge my batteries was to get out of the city, out on the open road. Determination surged through me at that prospect, propelling me out of the door towards _Fraser Motors_.

I arrived at the garage only half an hour later, smiling widely at the welcome sight. As soon as I’d stepped inside, I was greeted by the same confident voice that had called me two days ago.

“Mornin’! Miss Beauchamp, right?” Jenny asked, though I could tell from her self-assured stance and straight gaze that the question was a rhetorical one. _Fraser Motors_ seemed to take pains to really know their customers, just like Auld Alec had.

“Claire will do,” I nodded and smiled.

An answering smile spread on the heart-shaped face. “Awright, Claire. Ye’re bike is all ready fer ye.”

“Brilliant! How much do I owe you guys?” I made a move to retrieve my wallet when Jenny stopped me.

“Put that away, luv. Ye had some questions about the repair, aye? She’s still parked in the shop. Ye can ask our mechanic anything ye’d like tae ken before paying. Jus’ through that door, aye?” she said, pointing towards a door to her right.

 _Customer satisfaction first_ , another credo reminiscent of Alec. This Fraser guy had been an attentive study, it seemed.

Very much satisfied with my old mechanic’s recommendation, I pushed my way through the door into the garage. The space was as tidy as the adjoining shop—if such a thing was possible—and right there, amidst neat rows of tools and other paraphernalia, was _the love of my life._

I reached out a finger to touch the gleaming handlebar, a dreamy smile playing on my lips, when a voice stopped me dead in my tracks.

“Claire.”

My head whipped around, trying to locate the source of the voice that instantly conjured flashes of exposed limbs in the throes of passion. 

I hadn’t noticed Jamie before, even though he was only a few feet away, leaning casually against a workbench, sapphire eyes raking up and down my body. There were black, oily smears on his work-worn jeans and on his stubbled cheek. He wasn’t moving, but a twitch of his pectoral drew my gaze involuntarily towards its muscled outline. The well-fitted grey t-shirt he was wearing accentuated the firm planes beneath in a way that made my stomach flip and my mouth go dry.

“ _Jamie_?” I blinked, wondering why the apparition wasn’t disappearing.

“Aye,” he replied, pushing himself off the counter.

I felt a bit like a fish out of water, thrown into unnavigated territory; and with eyes wide and mouth still slightly agape, I probably even looked the part.

He took two steps forward, the movement drawing my gaze to where a patch of hairy, muscled thigh showed through a tear in the denim of his jeans.

“What, ah…” I coughed, wishing desperately for some saliva to return, “are _you_ doing here?”

A smirk tugged at the corners of his wide, sensual mouth as he pointed at a small logo on his shirt, commanding my focus upwards. “Someone has tae put the _Fraser_ intae the name, ken?”

“Ah.”

Another three steps and we stood face to face, my bike the only barrier separating us. His eyes drew in mine like magnets, the sudden nearness of him making my breath grow shallow and my knees weak. Lightheaded, I reached out to steady myself, and Jamie did the same.

 _So, this is what it feels like to be struck by lightning_ was the last conscious thought I had for a while as the warmth of his palms settled on my arms, solid and supportive.

A powerful electricity surged through my body at his touch, a billion volts sizzling in my veins and bursting from every pore, raising the hair on my skin. A white glow seemed to surround me as the world slowed down, my body frozen in place, every heartbeat louder but slower than the one before.

Before I realised what was happening, or who had made the first move, I was pressed flat between his broad chest and the edge of the counter, mouth crushed to his in a fevered kiss. Groin to groin, hands were gripping, roaming, grasping with impatient urgency as our bodies sought to move even closer.

Large hands firmly on my buttocks, Jamie lifted me onto the worktop, my own fingers busy searching for the hem of his shirt, freeing the cotton from his trousers. He made a small but eager sound in the back of his throat, triggering a similar response from my own lungs as my fingertips ventured beneath the waistband of his underwear.

“Claire.” My name fell from his lips in a pleading tone.

I could feel him hot and wanting against my palm, matching my own desperate need.

“I…I want ye sae much I can scarcely breathe,” he panted into my neck.

Barely able to form a coherent thought, I wound my fingers through his hair, holding tight as if to ground myself that way. “I want you too.”

“Will ye have me, then?” he asked, pulling back a little, pupils blown wide as his eyes burned into me. 

I was still marvelling at my blatant disregard of any inhibitions I would have harboured with any other man about having sex in a place we could easily be interrupted when my body had already moved to make more room for him between my thighs. Braced back on my palms, I offered myself to him, holding his scorching gaze. 

“Yes,” I nodded, my voice hoarse. “Yes, I’ll have you.”

Not losing any time, Jamie unzipped my jeans with deft fingers, and pulled them hurriedly down along with my knickers, shimmying out of his own until they were pooling around his ankles.

Even though I was feeling reckless enough to not give a bloody damn about a condom—thank the GPs for the _Nuva Ring_ —Jamie had produced one seemingly from thin air. I didn’t have time to wonder about that, though, as his hands gripped me by the waist, pulling me closer to the edge, closer to him.

He entered me with a grunt, effectively wiping every other thought from my mind. I gasped as he began to move, my eyes closed, arching into our connection. Each stroke ignited a spark, shooting from my core throughout my body, synapses on overload. Again, and again, we came together with an intensity that was only matched by the force of an oncoming thunderstorm.

I could have sworn that I was even able to hear the lingering static crackling around us, but maybe it was just the wooden surface creaking under our frantic joining. Clinging to Jamie for dear life as he drove into me, I bit his shoulder to stifle my cries. His mouth was latched on to my neck, and I could feel the slight bite of bursting capillaries as his mark blossomed purple beneath my skin.

It was over in less than three minutes, but time had ceased to exist as all I saw were stars and forever behind closed eyelids. Jamie groaned, his breath hot in the crook of my neck as he flexed his hips one more time, then stilled. When he slipped free of me, there was suddenly a hollow, gaping emptiness.

Stark naked from the waist down, he looked at me, his hands still firm on my waist, wearing an expression of incredulous amazement. Smiling, I tenderly wiped the sweat off his brow with a thumb, my heart slowly returning to its normal pace.

It was the screech of tyres and gravel from a nearby street that jerked us back to reality. Realising with a start where we were—and the state we were in—we hastily broke apart, righting our clothes as quickly as humanly possible.

Jamie had just tossed the condom into one of the bins when Jenny entered, fiddling with a pen and focused on a clipboard. 

“Willie jus’ called, he’s still stuck in Darnley. Probably going tae take another two hours, he said. D’ye think ye can manage the flat tire repair he was supposed tae do before the 11 o’ clock appointment comes in?”

“Aye, sure.”

I couldn’t have said what it was in Jamie’s tone that caught Jenny’s attention, but her head snapped up like a gazelle sensing a lion at her back.

“Everything awright in here?” she asked, brows furrowed in suspicion.

Jamie and I were standing some feet apart, nowhere near touching distance, but the smell of sex hung around us like a bold-lettered sign advertising the activity in which we’d just been engaged.

“Yes.” My voice sounded a lot higher than normal, and my cheeks flushed under the tiny woman’s appraising gaze. “Quite all right, thank you.”

“Mmphm,” she retorted with one of those typically Scottish noises, obviously not convinced.

She straightened her back, seemingly growing a foot as she shot a dark look at Jamie before light blue eyes flashed back towards me with a kinder expression.

“Whenever ye’re ready, Claire,” Jenny said before vanishing back through the door.

Waiting until the door fell shut, I cursed, the heat of embarrassment still flaming in my cheeks. “Fuck!”

“Do you think she knows?” I turned to Jamie, hoping he might contradict what I already knew to be the truth.

He chuckled, though I thought I could detect a hint of nervousness in it. “Och aye, she kens all right. And even if she doesnae ken exactly _what_ happened, she’ll probably have an idea when ye leave.”

My eyebrows rose almost to my hairline. “And how will _that_ fill her in on the details?”

“Weel, I may be wrong, but I dinnae think ye had fingerprints on yer shirt or yer arse when ye came in here—I’m sorry about that, by the way.” He looked apologetic and a bit sheepish as he wiped his hands into a rag. “Ma sister may be wee, but she’s no’ stupid.”

There was a brief moment of relief at the realisation that I would be facing a sister’s silent judgement instead of the immediate wrath of a jealous girlfriend when walking back into the shop. Jamie was right, though. While the lovebite was easy enough to hide underneath my voluminous hair, the black, greasy stains all over my waist and butt were a dead give-away as to what we had been doing.

“Shit,” I swore, realising that rubbing at the proof of my lost sense of propriety only made it worse. That pair of jeans was likely a lost case.

Jamie approached, a tremor of hesitancy in the deep voice as he held out the rag to me. “I’m really sorry.”

“Are you?” I stopped my futile attempts at getting the oil off my clothes, looking him straight in the eye, trying to mask the nervousness building in my belly at his possible response. What was he sorry for? That it had happened? That it was me?

He seemed surprised by my question, his mouth hanging slightly open as his mind worked. “Weel, I’m no’ sorry fer _what_ we did, but...”

“What then?” Leaning back against my bike, a warm, hopeful feeling began to replace the uncertainty. 

Two fingers tapped a nervous staccato on his thigh as he tried to find the right words. “I’m no’ proud o’ the _how_ and _where_. I shouldnae have put ye in a position like that. I…” the tips of his ears went bright pink, “…I dinnae ken what came over me, I’ve never done such a thing before.”

There had been the possibility, of course, that a tryst in the middle of his garage might not be as unusual an occurrence for Jamie as it was for me. The fear of that difference in experience had been quietly brewing somewhere in the dark recesses of my mind but was now assuaged at his revelation. 

We looked at each other, the air around us still charged with something we couldn’t seem to put into words.

I broke the silence first, scared out of my wits by the force of my physical reaction to him.

“Well, I better go and pay—hiding in here probably won’t do us any good,” I surmised, thinking that I’d best get it over with, even though I wasn’t exactly looking forward to being scrutinised up close by Jenny. 

“Dinnae worry. Jenny willnae say anything tae ye,” he assured me, his words ringing truthfully.

I smiled and turned to leave when Jamie stopped me with a hand on my arm.

“Claire.” His voice was low, barely a whisper, but I heard him clearly. “I…I’d really like tae see ye again.”

I couldn’t have prevented the huge smile spreading across my face, even if I wanted to. “You do?”

“Aye, verra much so,” Jamie replied, my smile mirrored on his face.

“See me again, as in _see_ me again or…” I trailed off, the insinuation clear.

“Weel, I wouldnae mind the _or_ some more.” Ruddy eyebrows wriggled suggestively. “But I’d like tae _see_ ye again. Take ye out.”

“On a date?” My smile grew impossibly wider.

“Aye, on a date. If ye’re willi—”

“Yes,” I blurted before he’d finished his question, cheeks flushing pink once more. 

Our eyes connected then, and something clicked into place. Suddenly, everything was magnified. The feeling of his fingers on my arm, anchoring me to this moment; his eyes, blue and deep as the ocean of possibility carried in his words; my heart, pumping the essence of life through my body, sensing it had likely found its true mate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always my gratitude to the trio who keeps me on track:  
> @happytoobserve, @isitgintimeyet, and @lcbeauchampoftarth


	4. A New Constellation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> well, it's been a while, hasn't it?  
> that means downhill was going really well, and I'm glad that was the case. While GR is more of a fun side-project for me, believe me when I say I'm not going to forget about it and that this bold pairing of Jamie and Claire means a lot to me. 
> 
> so, as per usual, my intentions and plans have been thwarted. Initially, this was supposed to be a one-shot—now it's a multi-chapter. it was supposed to be light and fluffy, no drama, just a bit of smut in every chapter. It's still that, only, this chapter doesn't have any NSFW I'm sorry to say. I had something planned, but it just got longer and longer, and the place it ends just felt like a natural chapter break. So, once again, I'm going with my gut, and gonna do what the story feels like I should be doing. I hope you can live with one smut-less chapter, rest assured, the next one will have it again. :)

_“Weel, I wouldnae mind the or some more.” Ruddy eyebrows wriggled suggestively. “But I’d like tae see ye again. Take ye out.”_

_“On a date?” My smile grew impossibly wider._

_“Aye, on a date. If ye’re willi—”_

_“Yes,” I blurted before he’d finished his question, cheeks flushing pink once more._

_Our eyes connected then, and something clicked into place. Suddenly, everything was magnified. The feeling of his fingers on my arm, anchoring me to this moment; his eyes, blue and deep as the ocean of possibility carried in his words; my heart, pumping the essence of life through my body, sensing it had likely found its true mate._

**Part IV – A New Constellation**

Maybe I should have shown more restraint; played it cool, acted as if I didn’t care as much about him wanting to see me again as I did. The smile that crinkled Jamie’s deep blue eyes when I’d over-eagerly accepted his invitation for a date, however, was worth much more than any upheld pride or respectability. Whatever that was, anyway.

Palms slippery with a slight sheen of nervousness, my fingers skidded clumsily over the shiny screen of Jamie’s smartphone. Maybe it was a bit much to check four times whether I’d typed my number correctly, but I wasn’t going to give him an excuse not to call or text. Not that it seemed he would need one, but still.

When I handed him _my_ phone, the ruddy brows first furrowed and then arched in surprise, his wide mouth quirking with barely restrained amusement as his fingers, seemingly way too large for the tiny device, flew over the raised keys with remembered expertise.

I was still a bit distracted, my gaze once more drawn to the delicious outline of pectoralis major as they twitched now and again beneath the fitted grey shirt, when Jamie handed my phone back to me with a smile.

“All done,” he said in that wonderful, warm baritone of his, eyes connecting with mine as our fingers grazed against each other.

 _What was it with this man?_ I wondered dazedly, somewhere along the recesses of my slightly flustered mind.

What was it about this ruggedly handsome bike lover with the admittedly devastating smile that a mere brush of his bronzed skin made me forget myself in the middle of his bloody workshop? His general good looks and ostensibly kind nature definitely played a part in it. But neither that nor the endorphin surplus still lingering in my bloodstream could account for this incredibly powerful attraction that made me want to ravish Jamie a second time.

 _Get a grip_ , _Beauchamp_ , I ordered, planting my feet firmly into the cemented ground. Resisting the urge to fling myself at the firm and inviting chest again was a lot harder than it should have been, though. The fact that I now knew from experience that Jamie was more than capable of satisfying my need a second time wasn’t helping much either.

I really, _really_ needed to put some distance between us to clear my head.

And that’s what I’d come here for in the first place—to pick up my Suzuki and get out on the road. I think I needed that now more than ever.

“Good,” I said, slipping my phone into the front pocket of my oil-smeared jeans.

Damn, I really loved that pair.

I must have scrunched my face or sighed as I looked down my now ruined trousers, because Jamie cleared his throat, preparing for yet another apology.

“I’m really sorry fer ruining yer clothes, Claire.”

“I’m sorry too, but I’ll live,” I shrugged, an easy smile on my lips to show him it really wasn’t that big of a deal.

Scratching the back of his head, gaze slightly downcast, the big Scot almost appeared like a contrite puppy—a look that suited him a lot more than seemed fair.

“But you can make it up to me if that makes you feel better.”

He perked up at that, back straightening. “Aye? How?”

“Take me to a place that serves really good chips.” I stood on my tiptoes, kissing his scruffy cheek goodbye, and headed for the door.  
  


* * *

  
Out on the road, everything melted away.

The awkwardness of overhearing Jamie’s castigation by his sister—calling him _bampot_ and other names while wondering at high volume whether it was ‘new company policy to shag customers in the middle of the shop’—dissolved into nothingness when I put on my helmet. Frustration over the incident at work and its impending consequences—being dragged into an official investigation as a witness to my colleague’s attempt at saving his own skin—evaporated like steam after a piping hot shower when I swung my leg over the leather seat.

When I was on my bike, nothing else mattered.

The point of focus was ahead, always ahead, my body moving instinctively with the powerful machine beneath me. I crouched low behind the handlebars, digging my heels into the foot pegs as I accelerated to the speed limit—and maybe a _bit_ above that—on the straight stretches of asphalt taking me out of the city. Gliding past commuter cars and tourist buses towards unmoveable mountain faces, I navigated expertly around the bends and curves until the blue waters of Loch Lomond shone azure in the sun on my right.

Forward, pressing ever on forward, I found that perfect balance of mind as I crossed _The Trossachs_ at good speed, easily outpacing the heavy smog of a busy city mind on my chase of carefree weightlessness.

After what had felt like barely twenty minutes, but I knew had been more than two hours, I left the motorway to make a stop in Oban. I could have gone a little farther until I needed a refill of petrol, but I chose this scenic little West Coast town for a reason. 

Having filled up my tank, taking care of the emptiness gnawing at the walls of my stomach was next on my list. Fortunately, I knew _just_ the place. Nestled in between small warehouses and vendors at Calmac Pier sat _The Green Shack_ , a small establishment selling the best shellfish the sea at its back had to offer.

I parked my bike, taking a minute to smell the salt and open air, and approached it with an expectant smile sitting in the corners of my mouth. Through the open doors of the brightly painted hut—green, naturally—I could make out the same stocky figure as always. Feathery mop of hair ‘as white as bird shit’— _his words, not mine_ —tucked untidily beneath a fraying _Celtic F.C._ baseball cap, he stood bent over the sizzling hot plates in the back, whistling along to the radio.

“Don’t you think it’s time to start wearing a decent hat, Dòmhnall?” I asked by way of greeting, though an entirely rhetorical question.

The old man straightened up, turning around and smiling toothily from ear to ear.

“Weel, look what the tide brought in,” he said in that heavy West Coast accent of his, wiping his stubby, workworn fingers into a rag as he moved towards me.

Tipping his grimy old hat, the grin on his face grew even wider—if such a thing was possible—as he spotted the not exactly subtle oil smears on my jeans and shirt. “You wanna be lecturing me, lass? Looking like _that_?”

I shrugged it off with a small laugh. “I promised Mary I would keep trying—for her sake. I know it’s a lost cause.”

“Ha, that wife of mine didnae get me tae wear a new one fer thirty years, I’m no’ going tae give in now,” he chuckled, the fondness for his spouse almost tangible.

“What else is new, then?” I asked, taking a seat on an empty barrel.

“Same ol’, same ol’. The fish’s still fresh and I still reek o’ their guts when I get hame at night,” Dómhnall said, returning his attention back to the frying langoustines. “How’s it been wi’ ye, lass? I havenae seen yer face in a while.”

“Busy—too busy,” I said somewhat tiredly, feeling some of the weight I’d left behind in Glasgow settle on my shoulders again. “It’s hard to find enough time to make the longer trips these days.”

“That hospital is no’ good fer ye.”

I stretched my legs out, calf muscles sighing with relief. “Tell me something I don’t know, old man.”

He looked at me over his shoulder, grey eyes bright and lined with age. “I got some fresh scallops in.”

Even before I was able digest that information, my stomach answered with an anticipatory rumble that took me right back to when I first met Dòmhnall Sutherland.

I’d been similarly famished that Saturday, more or less twelve years ago. It was the day I’d taken my first ever ride on my very first bike—a Honda Falcon—and I’d got so caught up in cruising the motorways through the lush scenery that I arrived at the small fishing town only as night began to fall. Used to late night study sessions featuring _Souvlaki_ from the Greek restaurant around the corner and the opening hours of Scotland’s largest city, I hadn’t considered that supermarkets and pubs would close so early, leaving me chasing the emptying streets for a chippie.

It was during that hunt for quick and easy sustenance that I’d stumbled across _The Green Shack_. Drawn by the lights as much as the lingering aromas of frying fish, I almost cried when I realised that it was just about to close down for the night as well. Dòmhnall had taken pity on me, though, scraping together a meal from the leftovers—some scallops and rather ripe melted cheddar bedded on lettuce betwixt two slices of Scottish plain.

Since then, he and his wife had become close friends to me, and I always stopped by the little green hut whenever my excursions took me somewhere near Oban.

“Will it be the usual then?” he asked, even though I’d seen him throwing the white fleshy molluscs on the grill already.

“You know me,” I replied, settling my back against the wall, mouth already salivating at the thought of that incredible lemon butter sauce.  
  


* * *

  
We sat shoulder to shoulder on my favourite snacking bench, looking out into Oban Bay. The nose of the Isle of Kerrera straight across the dark blue waters, we watched ferries pass to and fro like large sea slugs bearing island hoppers on their steely backs while we munched in contented silence.

“Ye awright there?” the gravelly voice to my right tore me out of my reverie.

“Hm? Sure,” I said a bit distractedly, still mesmerized by the softly undulating sea as a gentle breeze lifted brown curls off my shoulders. “Why are you asking?”

When Dòmhnall didn’t respond right away, I turned to look at him, one eyebrow arched interrogatively.

His hands lay folded over his big belly, a fatherly look of concern edged into the deep lines of his weathered face. “Ye’ve been rubbing yer back while chewing a hole intae yer lip every twa minutes.”

“Have I?” I asked in a credible attempt at nonchalance.

Shit. I hadn’t even realised I’d been doing that.

Minor muscle spasms and some stiffness after spending a long time in a crouched position was perfectly normal—to be expected, even. The reason my hand had absentmindedly been drifting over my lower back had nothing to do with any bodily discomfort, though. Quite the opposite, really. 

I could still feel Jamie there.

Even now, hours later, the round shapes of his fingertips were live and immediate where they had burned a bright new constellation into the universe of my body—faint, unseen planets pulsing quietly but incessantly with life under my skin. Like stars during the day, they couldn’t possibly be seen, but they were there, nevertheless.

As much as I’d enjoyed his tight grip on me, I found it quite unsettling that the man whose eyes were as hypnotising as the blue waves frothing over the rocks in front of me could follow me out here, when everything else had stayed behind.

Realising that Dòmhnall was looking at me with growing interest from beneath his shabby old hat, I put on my most reassuring smile, waving his observation off with a, “Just not getting any younger,” as I motioned with my head at my nearby parked Suzuki.

I received a booming belly laugh in answer, and knew my deflection had been effective.

“She’s looking verra fine, by the way. Have ye given her a new coat o’ paint?”

I shook my head. “She just got out of the workshop and still has the polish on.”

“Ah,” he said, stretching his arms, barely stifling a yawn. “Speaking o’ shops—I should probably get back tae mine and see if it’s still standing.”

“I better get back on the road soon as well,” I mused, checking the time on my ancient phone.

“Headed straight back tae the city?” Dòmhnall asked, wiping his wrinkled forehead with the back of his hand.

“No, I was planning on going the southern route,” I replied, looking out into the bay again. It was a quarter to 2 p.m. and I had three hours and another petrol stop ahead of me if I was going to take that way. “Maybe a quick stop in Inveray.”

“Down the A816 and then on from Lochgilphead? Aye, that’s a lovely stretch.”

“That was the plan,” I confirmed with a nod and a smile.

Another look at the tiny, pixelated screen distracted me again. I wasn’t a phone person at the best of times, and knowing that I hardly ever checked for messages, my friends generally called instead of sending texts. So when I noticed the tiny message symbol on the pixelated screen, a warm, fuzzy feeling bloomed in my chest.

Unaware of the sudden surge of giddiness dimpling my cheeks, Dòmhnall got up, stretching once more until his spine popped ominously, and turned to me.

“It was good tae see ye again, lass. Dinnae wait sae long until next time, aye?”

I got to my feet as well. “I’ll try my best, old man.”

Taking a step forward, he made to hug me, but I stopped him with a hand, pointing at my dirty front with the other. He raised one bushy eyebrow at me as if to say, _Do I look like I care about a wee bit o’ grime?_

Laughing, I embraced him, making sure to squeeze his shoulders extra tightly.

“Take care o’ yerself,” he said, regarding me with a kind eye before spinning on his heel and sauntering off.

“You too!” I called after him.

Alone again, I sank back down on the bench, ankles crossed, my gaze fixed on the mint-green screen as I debated whether to open the message right now or wait until I got home.

Who was I kidding? There was no way I could wait that long.

I opened my messages, and my stomach sagged immediately, heavy with disappointment—it was one of those automated provider notifications. Way to ruin my afternoon, O2!

Hope lit up again, though, when I saw that two other texts sat unread in my inbox. Leaning forward, I bit my lip, thumb hovering for a second before I clicked on the first message. It was from one James Alexander Malcolm…I had to scroll down because the many syllables overwhelmed the tiny square of screen…MacKenzie Fraser.

 _Well hello there, Jamie I-have-way-too-many-middle-names-and-don’t-mind-a-good-shag-in-my-workshop Fraser_ , I thought, smile spreading as I began to read.

_hey Claire, hope you’re satisfied with your bike. have a great ride! Jamie_

While it wasn’t what I’d hoped for—not that I could say what I _had_ hoped for, really—the mere fact that Jamie had already reached out to me was a relief. Saying he wanted to take me on a date was one thing, acting on it quite another. It was the second SMS that did me in, though.

_I’m sorry, that probably sounded terribly impersonal. let me try again? hey, Claire, hope you’re having a great ride and that everything is to your satisfaction with the bike (I can kick the mechanic for you if not). Also, I can’t stop thinking about you. Go out with me tonight? x J_

If I hadn’t known it to be physically impossible, I would have said my heart had just performed an excellently executed front wheelie with a 180° turn. My fingers were almost flying over the keys as I composed my reply.

 _thanks for checking in. she’s very smooth, the mechanic did a great job. no need for violence on my behalf. :-)_ _been thinking about you, too. tonight won’t work, though. I’m still in Oban. how about tomorrow? I have the day off. x C_

Just as I slipped my Nokia back into my pocket, satisfied that I’d hit an encouraging but not too desperate tone in my response, a _ping_ announced the arrival of a new text. 

_all the way up in Oban? hope the weather’s nice, it’s been pissing down here since you left. tomorrow works for me. I’m free after I close the shop. would 7 work? I’d like to shower first. x J_

The warm, fuzzy feeling intensified. This was really going to happen.

_tomorrow it is then. 7 works for me! we can work out the rest of the details when I get home? x C_

_sounds good to me. call me whenever you get back. x J_

_will do! talk later. :-) x C_

I closed my eyes, allowing myself a brief moment of indulgence before gathering my curls under my helmet, and then I was off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my gratitude for the usual suspects:  
> @happytoobserve, @isitgintimeyet, and @lcbeauchampoftarth  
> [also thanks to the wonderful @ecampbellsoup for lending me her critical ear and eye]
> 
> and to all of you wonderful people out there (hopefully safely quarantined and healthy) who read, recommend, bookmark, subscribe, leave kudos, or most wonderfully—comments.


	5. Sweat

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it often feels a lot longer to finish a chapter than it actually takes, I realised. I mean, sure, it's been close to two weeks, but it's a damn meaty chapter (not _quite_ 6k words). anyhow...I'm still very glad that I decided to end the last chapter where I did, because, initially, this was supposed to be still part of it.
> 
> anyhow...without much further ado, I give you their date. :D and some definite nsfw

The warm, fuzzy feeling intensified. This was really going to happen.  
 _tomorrow it is then. 7 works for me! we can work out the rest of the details when I get home? x C  
_ _sounds good to me. call me whenever you get back. x J  
_ _will do! talk later. :-) x C  
_ I closed my eyes, allowing myself a brief moment of indulgence before gathering my curls under my helmet, and then I was off.

**Part V – Sweat**

As a living, breathing human being, I was no stranger to sweat. Clammy hands before the pathology exam counted as one of the minor symptoms of fear as a medical student. Being a trauma surgeon, spending hours on end bent over the operating table, beads of perspiration coating my brow were an almost daily occurrence. Like most people, I, too, had had the occasional fever that left me disgusted with myself and had rendered my bedclothes an inhospitable environment for the next night’s rest. Heat-induced sweat was a bit harder to come by in a climate like Scotland’s, but I was more than familiar with the kind that accompanied me under heavy layers of sun-warmed leather jackets and protective gear.

So, yeah…I knew sweat all right. What I was not familiar with, however, was the lack of it with a first date looming on the horizon.

Its absence was most conspicuous as I gave myself another once-over in the full-length mirror. Especially so because all the other typical signs of nerves were there: a racing heartbeat that pulsed in throat and groin, the swarm of raving butterflies throwing a party in my belly; even the half-crazed look of exhilaration—the kind my friend Gillian would call ‘fuck me eyes’—was there.

I was beyond thrilled to see Jamie again, though even that was an understatement. The bouncy excitement of knowing that I’d soon find myself close enough to kiss that devilish handsome smile right off his face was almost impossible to contain.

And yet, despite the heavy anticipation coursing through my veins, there was no sweat—not a single drop of moisture anywhere. Neither at the nape of my neck, where thick curls fell freely down to my shoulder blades, nor between my leather-booted toes. Wherever my probing fingers brushed over the creamy expanse of my skin, it was dry and pleasant to the touch. I had no need to hastily blot armpits and apply another coat of antiperspirant or change into darker clothes that would hide potential pit stains throughout the evening.

 _It was comfort_ , I realised as I ran a fingertip over the yellowing love bite just below my ear.

Comfort that I knew Jamie already, even if I didn’t know much about him yet. I wasn’t going on a date with a complete stranger, but a man who knew what he was getting. A man who’d seen me in the altogether for longer periods of time than dressed, a man who’d already had the most intimate taste of me—and still wanted more.

Surrounded by the soft fragrance of my favourite perfume, I took in my amber-eyed reflection, and had to admit that I’d probably never felt as confident or looked as fine as this before, love bite notwithstanding.

Between formless scrubs and my riding gear, I generally didn’t care much about how I dressed. Working an erratic schedule, I didn’t see any point in wasting the energy to peruse shop after shop for outfits that would attract attention in clubs or at other social events I never attended anyway. I was perfectly happy with cotton shirts and jeans—ranging from tight, but comfortable fits to baggy boyfriend cuts. My only real interest in fashion—if you could call it that—were boots and leather jackets. I had a small collection of both, all well-loved and even more well-worn.

I did own two dresses, though. One was an elegant, modestly cut grey pencil dress I usually wore to the occasional hospital function or Christmas party. The other, decidedly less formal in a vibrant, strapless purple, currently hugged my chest with a subtle v-neckline, a chiffon overlay flowing freely out from waist to knees.

For a second, I’d worried it might be a bit over the top for a pub date; but combining it with my favourite pair of boots and black bomber jacket, I felt I’d achieved that blend of casual sexiness I’d been aiming for. Choosing this dress also came with a major advantage: it was much more convenient to remove than jeans, should the need arise. If previous encounters with the virile Scot were any indication, it would almost certainly come to that.

Insides quivering in anticipation, I grabbed wallet, keys, and phone, and hurried out of the door.  
  


* * *

  
Two stops on the subway and a brisk walk through Mansfield Park later, I arrived at Jamie’s chosen venue with a couple of minutes to spare. Located off the beaten tourist tracks, the _Duck Club_ ‘s inviting blue shop front dominated a corner of streets lined with blonde sandstone buildings not too far from where he lived.

Trying to make up my mind whether to head inside or wait out on the street, I approached it with a slightly hesitant step. I hadn’t yet reached a conclusion when I felt a prickle of awareness run down my spine.

I stopped, just before crossing the street, and turned to look back over my shoulder. Sure enough, there he was. With his impressive height and flaming copper hair, Jamie was easy enough to spot among any number of passing pedestrians, but it was the force of his sparkling blue gaze that drew my focus towards him.

The second our eyes connected, all the traffic noises around me faded away, and everything inside my head went still. 

My body had followed the pull of our connection without me realising it, so that I was now facing Jamie, a brilliant smile curling the corners of his mouth as he moved towards me. Effortlessly handsome even when in torn, oil-smeared trousers, he cut an especially fine figure with shower-damp hair, black jeans, and a roguish leather jacket covering his broad shoulders.

“Claire.” The way my name rolled off his tongue shook me out of my trance-like state, my heart leaping into a higher gear.

The proximity of the body that had elevated mine to thus far unrivalled peaks didn’t exactly make it easier to regain my bearings, but I somehow managed to form a reply.

“Hi,” I said, a shy smile forming on my lips.

This brief exchange was followed by a slightly awkward pause, neither of us really knowing how to navigate these unknown waters of first dates while already intimately acquainted with the other. A handshake was certainly way too formal, but sticking my tongue down his throat seemed a bit excessive before the main course, no matter how badly I wanted to.

I could see the same urge flash in his eyes, and the hope that—maybe, just maybe—he was as enamoured of me as I was of him swelled in my chest.

“Ye look…” Jamie began, but didn’t offer any more for the moment. His appreciative glance was enough to tell me he liked what he saw, though. “Just…wow.”

My cheeks flushed with pleasure, and I had to suppress the impulse of giggling like a schoolgirl and playing bashfully with the hem of my dress.

Shaking his head lightly, he seemed to recover first. “Shall we?”

“Yes.”

Smiling up at him, I grasped his large hand in mine as we crossed together into new territory.  
  


* * *

  
We were seated in a cosy little nook in the far back corner of the pub, where the light from the streets didn’t reach. The typical pub music playing at medium volume around us, it was an atmospheric kind of dimness that provided as much privacy as such a public space possibly could. 

“You don’t seem to venture much out of your neighbourhood, do you?” I teased, accepting the menu from the waiter after giving him my order of a gin and tonic. We were, after all, only around a five minutes’ walk away from his place, and less than that from the bar he’d taken me to on the day we met.

He smiled in response. “I’m often too dead on my feet after work to do anything but grab a quick bite somewhere close by.” For someone who likely had had a long working day behind him, Jamie looked irritatingly fresh-faced—though the shower might have helped with washing the day’s exhaustion away. “And the pubs in the city centre are always packed and too loud—no’ exactly a great choice if ye want tae understand what the other person is saying.”

It was said in an offhand kind of way, but I was still ridiculously pleased by the fact that he seemed to honestly want to get to know me outside of any carnal interactions.

“But the real reason we’re here,” Jamie leaned in a little, lowering his voice as if to whisper a secret, a delicious whiff of soap and aftershave accompanying the motion, “is that ye told me tae take ye tae a place that serves really good chips. I’ve yet tae find a place that makes them better.”

I smiled, delighted that he’d taken my request seriously. I loved food—the local, down-to-earth, prepared-as-grandma-used-tae kind—and disliked the pretentiousness that frequently came with establishments that labelled themselves _haute cuisine_. I’d rather have a fresh serving of hot, greasy chips along beer-battered fish than be surrounded by patrons sticking their noses too deeply in their wine glasses and other people’s business.

“Seems almost a sacrilege to just order chips,” I said, my mouth watering as I looked through the options on offer. I had no problem finding several dishes that I wouldn’t mind getting a taste of—from the twelve-hour duck leg to the Barra monkfish scampi.

“Get whatever ye like, Claire. But trust me, ye’ll never have had chips like these before.”

“What’s so special about them?” I asked, enjoying the way we eased into conversation. 

“Duck grease,” Jamie explained, a slightly dreamy expression on his face. “They fry them in duck grease.”

Duck grease in and of itself wasn’t exactly the tempting variable in this equation. The way Jamie licked his lips in apparent memory of taste, however, sold me on the idea in an instant. Seriously, that kind of sex appeal should be prohibited by law. 

“Chips it is then.” I bowed my head so he wouldn’t catch me staring at his mouth.

“How on earth am I going to decide?” I wondered aloud after some brooding over the selection of chips, brushing a strand of curls behind my ear. “They all sound delicious.”

“Let’s get all o’ them, then,” Jamie suggested.

“But that would be way too much,” I protested weakly. My stomach was already on board with the frivolous proposition of getting them salted, with truffle mayo, parmesan and black pepper, honey mustard mayo, as well as with crispy bacon and spring onion, though.

“Dinnae worry,” he said, teeth gleaming white in a grin, “ye wouldnae be eating them on yer own. I’m fair famished—I havenae eaten since breakfast.”

“It’s all I can do not tae take a bit out o’ _you_ just now,” he added in jest, but there was a glint in his eye that brought about a rather vivid imagination of him doing _exactly that_.

I crossed my legs under the table.

“I hadn’t realised I was in danger.”

“Verra much sae, I’m afraid,” Jamie said, taking my hand and biting my knuckles softly in demonstration.

Did he have any idea what he was doing to me with such a simple, playful gesture?

“All right, then, Mister Fraser,” I cleared my throat, retrieving my hand and squeezing my legs tighter together. Assuming what I’d hoped was a nonchalant tone, I tried to steer the conversation towards less dangerous terrain. “As it seems to be either my skin or that of potatoes, I choose to save my own. Let’s get those chips.”  
  


* * *

  
Jamie had not been exaggerating—those had truly been some exceptional chips. And that aioli dip was heaven-made. Just thinking about it reactivated my salivary glands, despite feeling a bit bloated from overindulging in our starchy feast.

That slight uneasiness of the body passed quickly, though, forgotten amidst easy flirting and genuine attempts at getting to know the other. As much as I’d enjoyed the physical aspect of our brief acquaintanceship, that powerful attraction always simmering dangerously close to the surface, I was glad to be just talking to Jamie—for now, at least.

His long legs were bracketing mine under the table in a way that was encouragingly intimate, but not invasive. He’d been like that all evening—keeping a respectful space between us without seeming distant. Although I craved to feel his skin on mine by that point, I was grateful for his restraint, seeing as I appeared to be incapable of controlling myself when we touched.

“I’m really glad ye could make it taenight, Claire,” Jamie said during a lull in conversation, looking at me across the table.

It wasn’t the statement per se that caught my attention, but the underlying note of surprise that went with it.

I set down my glass. “Did you think I wouldn’t show up?”

He dropped his gaze, a hesitant smile lurking in the corners of his mouth as he traced the coaster of his whisky with a finger. “I thought ye’d maybe cancel.”

“What? Why?” I blurted, brows furrowed in astonished confusion.

“Weel, after we met…when ye stayed the night at my place…”

Intrigued where he was going with this, I pushed the images that sprung up at the mention of that particular night to the back of my mind, encouraging him to go on.

“In the morning when ye said ye had tae go tae work,” he’d moved on from playing with the coaster to plucking at the corner of his serviette, “I thought that mebbe ye just didnae want tae stay.”

Before I could object, Jamie continued, “It was only that it was Sunday, and I didnae think it likely that ye really had tae go tae work, ye ken?”

Ah.

Having been a surgeon for so long—surrounded by other medical professionals on more or less similar shift patterns—it hadn’t really occurred to me that for people outside of that field, weekend shifts or working on bank holidays was not a given. Since our respective jobs had only come up about half an hour ago—his had been fairly obvious after our meeting in the workshop the day before—I really couldn’t fault Jamie for jumping to his original conclusion.

“I really had to work, though,” I reassured him, reaching for his hand to stop his nervous fiddling.

The moment my skin met his, sapphire eyes shot up to meet mine, creased with a beatific smile that roused the dormant butterflies in my belly. 

“Aye, I ken that now, _Doctor_ , but I didn’t—then.” He turned his palm upwards—an invitation I gladly accepted.

“Is that why you didn’t ask for my number?” I asked, marvelling at the rightness of this careful but deliberate connection.

“That was part o’ it, aye,” Jamie admitted, his expression open, honest. “I didna ken how tae read what ye were in fer. Ye seemed…” his lips quirked into a smirk as he pronounced the next word carefully, “ _enthusiastic_ about…our night taegether.”

I reciprocated the smug smile with one of my own, hiding it behind my glass. I _had_ been enthusiastic about that night, all right. More than that.

“But then ye had that look about ye—all regretful somehow.” The confident set of his mouth wavered a bit, his voice sounding almost rueful.

“I _was_ regretful, Jamie,” I said, focusing on the movement of my fingers learning the delta of veins at his brawny wrist. “I regretted having to go to work. I really wanted to stay with you.”

His eyes seemed to light up at my confession, lips curling upwards again.

“It doesnae matter now that ye’re here,” he said, rough fingertips drawing their own paths against my palm, “but I just didnae ken fer sure how ye’d feel about seeing me again, and I didnae want tae ask when yer mind was already halfway out the door.”

“But ye kent where I lived already,” Jamie went on, “sae I thought if I gave ye something ye could return tae me, ye would mebbe come back…if ye liked.”

Loose curls tickled the skin of my collarbone as I chuckled at the memory of the appropriated thermos mug I’d been carrying around since that morning. “Quite a stroke of genius, Mister Fraser.”

Upon hearing my praise of his cunning, the broad chest seemed to swell slightly, accentuating the hard ridges of muscle underneath the white t-shirt in a most delicious way.

“I’m not sae sure about that, seeing that ye’ve yet tae return it.”

I blushed, realising that he was quite right. I _had_ had every intention to do it, though.

“I would have returned it,” I said quietly, fingers squeezing to emphasise my conviction. “I might still do it.”

“I’m glad o’ it,” Jamie replied with the sweetest smile.

“It takes a lot of guts to do that kind of thing, though.”

“Tae be fair,” he leaned in a bit, and I caught the scent of his skin and aftershave once more, “I also kent that I’d definitely see ye again at the shop, sae I didnae risk all that much by letting ye go wi’out yer number or giving ye mine. It takes a lot less guts if ye ken ye’re going tae get another chance, aye?”

“I guess you’re not wrong there,” I conceded with a smile. “But why did you think I would cancel on you tonight?”

“Weel,” Jamie began, his dark blue eyes following the movement of his thumb as it rubbed gently over mine, “after yesterday…I just…weel, I was a bit worrit that ye might have felt pressured into giving me yer number—given the circumstance.”

I gave myself a moment to admire that a man as refreshingly forward and generally sure of himself as Jamie still seemed to be a sensitive guy at heart. That whatever this was between us seemed to matter to him as well sent the swarm of butterflies soaring again, fluttering madly in chest and belly.

“We didnae exactly get tae talk much there, either, aye?” he quipped, mischief lining the sensual mouth.

My cheeks pinked a bit at the memory, my own smile widening. “Not exactly, no.”

“I mean…as amazing as it was—and Christ!” the soft exclamation rang with an incredulous kind of sincerity as he lifted his gaze up to mine, “it was…mind-blowing, but…”

 _Mind-blowing indeed, Mister Fraser_ , I thought, pressing my legs tightly together as I felt the by now familiar heat rise a notch higher.

“But?”

“But I was afraid that having jumped ye in the middle o’ the garage might have put ye off fer good or mebbe—”

“It didn’t put me off,” I cut in, looking down at our joined hands. It was mesmerising how a touch that chaste could make my blood tingle like this. “And you didn’t jump me, Jamie,” I added, needing him to know that I’d been a more than willing participant. “I wanted you just as much.”

“That’s good tae hear.” Jamie smiled, repositioning his knees against mine. The warmth of his body seeped through the fabric of his jeans into my skin, adding to the steady stimulation of his fingers. “I woulnae have known what tae do otherwise.”

“About what exactly?” I asked, wondering whether it was getting warmer in our little nook.

“If ye said ye didnae feel this as well.” He gestured with his free hand between the two of us. “Because I’ve honestly never felt such a thing before, Claire.”

“You haven’t?” I needed to hear him say it again. “Never?”

“No.” There was no hesitation or ambiguity in his reply, no uncertainty in the set of his shoulders or jaw.

“Have _you_?” he returned the question, eyes intent on mine, his fingers resting over the pounding pulse in my wrist as if to gauge the truthfulness of my answer there.

“No,” I said with the same conviction. “Never.”

He released a small breath—relief, I thought—and placed a heavy hand on my thigh, sliding two fingers into the hollow of my knee, stroking. It was a gentle caress, like a teasing summer breeze, but the sensation of his fingertips skating over the sensitive skin there did unimaginable things to me. My heart was racing, my pupils growing wider with need for more.

“Whenever I close my eyes, I see you,” Jamie confided in a deep rumble, closing his eyes as if to demonstrate, smiling at the image that seemed to come before him. “And as good as that is…” he continued, opening his eyes again and fixing me in place with the weight of his gaze, my breathing growing more shallow, “…it doesnae compare at all tae being able tae touch you.”

It was truly mesmerising how a simple look from Jamie could be so much more potent than the gin in my barely touched glass. I was only just able to control myself by that point, my heart doing volleys and jumping jacks and other cardio exercises that I was most definitely not used to, screaming at me to throw myself at him—now!

“And how does that make you feel—being able to touch me?” I asked in a voice that—despite a distinct breathiness—sounded a lot more composed than I’d thought myself capable of in this moment. I knew how it made _me_ feel, all right—the damp heat at the apex of my thighs was becoming awfully hard to ignore.

“Good.” The cadence of his voice was even lower as he moved forward, as close as the table between us would allow, muscular thighs gliding along the outside of mine. The inky blue gaze continued to hold mine captive—drawing me in, drawing me closer until I could feel the table edge press into my belly and his words on my lips. “ _Verra_ good.”

Intoxicated by Jamie’s proximity and emboldened by his admissions, my own unoccupied hand slipped underneath the table. Travelling painstakingly slowly up the solid column of his thigh, I could feel each subtle shift and contraction of muscle while the black of his pupils swallowed up the colour of his eyes.

“And how are you feeling now?” I asked in a whisper, my insides clenching with a different kind of hunger as my fingers inched their way up. His mouth was so close that the soft gushes of his exhalations mingled with mine, making me dizzy.

Jamie licked his lips, fingers twitching against my knee. “Dangerously good.”

Sensing his next move, my eyes closed of their own volition, preparing for the impact. The kiss was softer than I’d expected, his mouth moving sensuously slow over my lips. I was strung too tightly, though, too needy for slow.

“Claire.” The note of warning in his low rasp would have been unmistakeable, even if Jamie hadn’t caught my wandering hand by the wrist before it reached its intended destination. “If yer wee paw goes any further, I cannae guarantee fer anything. It’s all I can do tae hold myself taegether enough tae not fling ye on the table.”

I tilted my head back a little, raising a provocative eyebrow at him. “Maybe I don’t want you to hold yourself together.”

“Dinnae tease me, woman,” he countered my challenge, tightening the grip on my wrist. “Or I’ll show ye how serious I am.”

Freeing my hand from his grasp, I got to my feet. Jamie blinked, obviously startled by the sudden turn in events.

“Claire, I’m sorry, I didnae—”

Bending down, I interrupted his unwarranted apology with what I hoped was a seductive invitation, “Come and find me in two minutes—the back cubicle.”

I pivoted around, curls swinging with the motion, and sashayed away, feeling his eyes bore into my back all the way.

Fortunately, I didn’t have time to work myself up—neither about the fact that I’d just invited Jamie to another round of public sexual relations, something I’d never participated in until yesterday, nor the possibility that he might reject it—because the door to the ladies’ room swung open to reveal his towering frame barely a minute after I’d stepped in.

We stood facing each other; a moment that probably lasted only half a second but felt like a lifetime. Broad shoulders heaving visibly and blue eyes so wide and inky with arousal, he looked positively feral. A red-haired demon whose black jeans did nothing to hide the prominent bulge of his erection.

I wanted him—badly. Every fibre of my being was calling out to him, wanting him to touch me, fill me, surround me.

As if Jamie could sense my need, he closed the distance between us, driven by his own hunger burning in the depths of his eyes. Strong fingers curling around the nape of my neck, he tilted my face towards him, crushing his mouth to mine in a violent kiss that set my nerve endings on fire.

“D’ye have any idea what ye’re doing tae me, Claire?” he growled—more accusation than question.

“Show me,” I breathed against his open mouth, nipping his lip in challenge. “Show me what I’m doing to you.”

Jamie made an urgent sound deep in his throat and—not one to waste any more time—manoeuvred us into one of the cubicles, kissing me senseless all the while.

“Are ye sure ye want tae do this?” he asked, sucking greedily at the base of my jaw. “Here?”

“Yes,” I panted, tangling fingers in his short curls and pushing myself against him, seeking for any kind of friction that would bring relief to this maddening desire. I couldn’t wait another second to have him. “Bolt the door.”

His lips parting from my skin with some reluctance, he made sure that no one could walk in on us, even if they might hear. Modesty thus secured, Jamie returned his ferocious attention back to me. Mouth fused to mine in a heated embrace of tongues, he took greedy handfuls of my backside, pressing me harder against his groin.

Keen to move to the next stage in the proceedings, I hitched one leg around his waist, but he pushed it down again. I didn’t even have time to let confusion settle between my brows when he ordered in a voice like gravel, “Turn around.”

The words went straight to my core, my body following the command without question and facing a nondescript white-tiled wall. Jamie was right behind me, running rough palms from the slope of my bare shoulder down to my hands. Pulling my wrists up above my head, he placed them on a small ledge a foot above the toilet.

His fingers trailed a blazing hot path down my sides and belly, feeling me up and down before bending me forward at the waist. Leaning over me, he brushed my hair out of his way and licked the shell of my ear, causing a shudder to run down my spine.

“I’m going tae show ye how mad I am fer you,” Jamie said, his gruff promise only fanning the flames already roaring inside of me.

“Do it now,” I panted, looking at him over my shoulder, feverish with need, “and don’t be gentle.”

He responded with a grunt and hasty fumbling at the small of my back. There was the clang of his belt buckle, followed by the unmistakeable sound of zipper teeth ripping open. Then his hands were on me again, rushing urgently up my thighs beneath the soft chiffon layers of my dress. Hooking his fingers into the elastic of my lacy knickers, he yanked them down without much ceremony.

“Spread yer legs,” he commanded, and I did as asked, feeling the hard heat of him against my skin, my legs trembling with impatient anticipation.

The hiss of a curse caressed my cheek as the tip of him encountered the welcoming wetness between my thighs. I almost whimpered in frustration when he didn’t move right away; but then, with a twist of hips he was inside me, effectively overriding any other feeling but that of him, of us.

“Oh god.” His breath was hot and needy in my ear, large fingers fanning out over my flanks and digging deliciously into waist and hip as he began to drive into me—hard and fast.

Using the wall as leverage, I met the pounding rhythm he set, eager to satisfy that primal demand of gliding flesh. Reddish whiskers scraped over my cheek and neck—burning the skin in the best way possible—edging the building wave of ecstasy on and on until I was teetering on the edge of climax.

“Harder,” I urged in a guttural voice, wanting him to sear the feel of him into me so I would carry it with me even after he left.

Seemingly incapable of coherent speech, Jamie only groaned and huffed with exertion, his teeth fastening on my neck like a stallion mounting a mare, fingers digging deeper into my waist as he redoubled his efforts. Had I had any thought to spare, I might have patted myself on the back for donning leather boots—I would _never_ have been able to keep my footing in heels.

Even though we hadn’t been at it for long, Jamie and I had worked up a good sheen of sweat grinding against each other. I could feel it burst from my pores—my body’s futile attempt to cool the raging inferno inside of me. Every stroke added more fuel to its all-consuming hunger, until my eyes snapped shut against the blinding brightness shooting up my spine.

My orgasm hit me with such intensity that I didn’t even have to try and stifle my cries. Neck arched and heart hammering in my ears, my mouth dropped open in silent wonder as slick muscles convulsed. Behind me, Jamie’s movements grew less steady as he chased his own release.

“Oh god,” he panted against my neck, the sound of his erratic breathing echoing in the small space around us. “Oh god, Claire.”

I hadn’t quite come down from my own high when his hips snapped against my backside one more time, then stilled. The large body suddenly rigid, the weight of him bore down on me in a most satisfying, if strenuous, way. We stayed like that for a bit, trying to catch our breath on wobbly feet, both reluctant to part from the other. Jamie let out a contented sigh against my ear, our gradually slowing heartbeats the only sounds.

Objectively, nothing about this had been gentle. Triggered by this inexplicable, explosive chemistry between us, it had been as raw and urgent as our little tryst in the workshop. And yet…

And yet, there was such delicate tenderness in the way he cradled me against his chest; in the way he soothed the angry skin at my neck with soft kisses; how he took care to clean me with a wad of toilet paper before finally moving away, smoothing my dress down my thighs before righting himself.

A dreamy smile playing on my lips, I turned around to thank him properly with a kiss, but froze mid-motion when I registered the anguished expression on his face.

“Jamie?”

He didn’t meet my eyes, rubbing his biceps violently, mouth twisted in a grimace.

“Jamie, what’s wrong? Are you hurt?” The sudden worry rushed out of me in a series of internalised questions as my fingers ghosted over cheeks, throat, and chest, trying to find the source of his discomfort. “Is your arm feeling numb?”

“No,” he finally croaked out, his throat tight with whatever was bothering him. “We should… let’s get out o’ here.”

“What? Why?” I asked, a bit taken aback at his drastic change in demeanour. “Apart from the obvious,” I added, forestalling any kind of excuse on that account.

“We have tae leave,” he repeated with rising urgency, still avoiding my eyes.

“Not before you tell me what the hell has got into you all of a sudden,” I dug my heels in, one hand on my hip, refusing to move even a single step until I had an answer.

Realisation hit then, and the worry I’d had for him morphed into a different kind of unease. I swallowed. “I’m sorry if this…” I looked around a bit helplessly, “was too much, I shouldn’t have—”

“No, no!” Jamie interrupted, wide-eyed. “It isnae _that_...”

“Then _what_ is it?” The insecurity intensified in the pit of my stomach. “One minute, you’re shagging the living daylights out of me, and the next you’re standing there looking like your puppy just died. What happened in the second I turned around?”

He looked as if I’d slapped him.

“I…” he began, taking a deep breath, “I’m sae sorry, Claire.”

“What the hell are you on about?”

“I…Fuck!” Jamie cursed, running a hand through his short hair. “I…I didnae use a condom.”

I was growing dizzy from trying to make sense of the situation. That was _not_ what I’d expected to come out of his mouth. “So? Are you telling me you’re not clean?”

“Christ, no!” He was still looking contrite and utterly miserable. “It’s just…tae lose myself that way wi’out…” Running a hand over his mouth, Jamie went on, his voice laced with a desperate sense of urgency. “We need tae get going, find a pharmacy and—”

Then, the shilling finally dropped.

“Oh…” I said.

“I’m sae sorry, Claire, it’s my fault,” he continued, shifting nervously from foot to foot, “and I’ll make sure—”

“Jamie,” I said, but he didn’t seem to hear me. Had there been more space, I’m sure he would have been pacing.

“Jamie, _stop_.”

I cupped his cheeks with both hands, holding him still and tilting his face down towards me. “It’s all right, do you hear me? I’m on birth control—nothing to worry about at my end. I would have said something about a condom otherwise.”

Relief transformed the mask of worry, lifting the tight lines around mouth and brows. “Are ye sure?”

A soft chuckle burst from my lungs, releasing my own tension. “Reasonably sure, yes,” I said, moving to my tiptoes to kiss him.

Jamie hesitated a second, but then the last of his anxiety melted away beneath my mouth, his palms finding their favourite resting place.

Sinking back down on my heels, I pressed my cheek to his chest, his chin settling atop my curls as if it belonged there.

“Lord, ye had me sweating there,” he released a shaky breath, one warm hand rubbing up and down my spine—a soothing gesture that I thought was meant for him more than me.

“I’m sorry. I should have brought it up, but—”

“Dinnae fash, Claire,” Jamie interjected, his voice sounding much lighter again. “Communication wasnae exactly the first thing on our minds, aye?”

“No.” I smiled against the white cotton of his shirt, glad that he seemed to have recovered his humour as well as his composure.

“Speaking of sweat, though…” I said, arching back so I could look up at him.

“Mmphm?”

“How about we get out of here right now and I’ll show you a much more pleasurable kind at your place?”

Blue eyes gleaming, he bent down and pressed his lips to mine, patting my bottom familiarly. “Let’s go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always my never-ending gratitude to the people who provide me with the feedback I need to become a better writer, most notably of all @elizabeth-beauchamp (formerly known as @lcbeauchampoftarth) 
> 
> and to you my lovely souls who read these stories of mine, who leave kudos, bookmark, subscribe, recommend, and most graciously leave comments. <3  
> I'm eager to hear your thoughts!


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